Tiny Shorts
by whenimaunicorn
Summary: The crew of the Canterbury let off some steam on Ceres station. Set before real story begins, just a little lemony musing about a past encounter Naomi and Amos could have shared.
Naomi was feeling great. Spectacular, even. The _Canterbury_ had gotten their haul in ahead of schedule, and they all had big fat bonuses to burn. A group of them, mostly from mechanical, were celebrating at an absolutely perfect dance club they had found the last time they visited Ceres. The crowd was always happy, the beats were fast, and the sound was set loud on the dancefloor but lower in the back. And perhaps most importantly, Naomi was out of the goddamn coveralls she and everyone else had been wearing every day for months aboard the _Cant._ She had scored the cutest pair of shiny gold booty shorts, and she was _rocking_ them.

As soon as Naomi stepped off the floor, the acoustic regulators cut the ambient volume to something that actually allowed conversation. There was a wide bar against the back wall, and scattered groups of couches filled the rest of the space. Her crew had been occupying one corner all night, though after the first few cocktails she couldn't stay sitting for long. Tonight's DJ was playing all her favorite styles, and she had to _move._ She realized she had totally lost track of time when she saw that only Amos was left, sitting with a bottle on a battered loveseat and watching her walk over to him with an easy smile on his face. He wasn't obliterated, but he had been drinking pretty steadily all night. Strutting her way over in time to the music, Naomi stumbled a little and he laughed; perhaps her own indulgence had been a little more than steady tonight.

"You waited for me?" Naomi asked as she reached him, exaggerated gratitude in her voice. She would expect nothing less from her most loyal crewmate, if he had noticed the others leave without her. And Amos noticed just about everything.

"Can't leave you alone here in those shorts, Boss," Amos said, and a playful smile twisted Naomi's lips. She found herself acting on a sudden impulse, dropping into the small space left in the seat beside him and throwing her long, bare legs over his lap. His only reaction was to shift so she could get comfortable, his right hand coming up to rest just above one of her knees.

"I expected you to be lost in the brothels by now, Amos," she teased, inclining her head toward him and wiggling her hip against him.

"Not in the mood for pros," he said with characteristic simplicity, his hand idly squeezing her thigh.

"Oh that feels good, my legs are not used to this much dancing at this much g," she groaned, dropping her head back as Amos obligingly set his beer down and started working his hands over all that bare skin.

Awkwardness broke through the warmth of her synthetic vodka buzz after a few moments, and she jumped out of Amos' chair. "I want to dance, come dance with me."

Amos stayed squarely in his seat. "I don't dance."

"Oh please, no one's here to see."

"No way in hell."

Naomi tugged on his arm, he smiled and stood his ground.

Laughing, Naomi went from pulling his arm up to pulling herself down, succumbing to the Earther's greater gravity and straddling his legs. With one knee on the chair on either side of him, her long thighs bridged the gap so easily she was still barely touching him. "This is the only kind of dancing you're used to, I suppose," she said into his ear in fake resignation, beginning to bounce and writhe to the heavy trance beat pumping out of the club's speakers.

Amos' face showed a mixture of shock and rapture when she found the courage to look him in the eye. It looked like his only thought was along the lines of "Am I getting a fucking lapdance from Naomi fucking Nagata right now?" The idea cracked a huge smile over her face, an electric rush of feelings she didn't even bother to parse because every one of them felt really fucking good.

She did her best to try out every nasty move she could remember from the music vids and table shows she had seen. She did them mostly with her eyes closed, because the intensity in Amos' face was just too much to take in more than tiny doses.

Suddenly he grabbed her around the waist with both hands. "Naomi, you need to stop."

She leaned in, still teasing. "Why?" she breathed against his ear, rolling her ass and brushing her chest against his.

"Because if I get any harder I'm going to fucking explode," he growled, and Naomi suddenly realized exactly what kind of game she had just been playing.

She sat up, hands on his shoulders for balance, only the sides of her knees touching his hips. She couldn't help but look down; his predicament was quite apparent. The sight sent a white-hot jolt of arousal through her own core. Breathing heavily, she tried to make sense of all the thoughts bouncing around in her head as she looked up to his face again.

His eyes were intense, but his expression was calm, his hands still and softly gripping her, waiting to see what she would do next. Just as he had done in countless situations aboard the _Cant_ , he had given her the facts on the ground and was just waiting for her to make the call. 'The alternator's shot, Boss;' 'Coolant's leaking, Boss,' 'I'll fuck you seven ways from Sunday if you want, Boss.'

Whatever she did next, things were going to be awkward on their next run. His constant companionship and loyalty, which she wasn't exactly sure how she had even earned, were a deep comfort to her. She felt absolutely safe with him, and she knew he would respect whatever choice she made. But just now, she was becoming aware that she had come very close to taking advantage of all of that. But would it be more irresponsible to sleep with him, or to walk away now?

"You look like you're thinking too hard," Amos said with a half smile. "Just do what _you_ want." But his hands spasmed along her ribs, showing the lie in his casual tone.

Naomi kissed him.

Amos groaned and ran his hands squarely down her hips, squeezing one asscheek in each hand. All restraint had evidently evaporated with that greenlight. His grip was possessive, kneading fingers tugging flesh

***After that they proceed to violate the terms of service, thanks for reading!


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